A lone T'sai druid, separated from his family and his now-destroyed home.

B'gharri grew up in a smallish family unit of 10 T'sai in a forested river valley near the base of the mountains. The clan consisted of himself and his young (15 year old) sister, his parents, his grandparents, his maternal uncle and his uncle’s mate, and their two daughters (both older than B’gharri). They all lived together in a cave complex near the mouth of the valley, a site chosen because, since the mouth was very narrow, they could easily watch over and divert any would-be intruders who might damage the balance of the forest.
 
The clan was led by his grandmother, a skilled druid and caretaker of the forest. While his cousins tended more toward rangerly ways and often took long travels, B’gharri preferred to stay home. This was tolerated since he showed an early aptitude for the druidic arts, and he spent much time being trained by his grandmother.
 
On his 30th birthday, she decided that it was time for B'gharri to expand his knowledge, and to visit and learn from some of the other T’sai druids in the area. He was reluctant to leave, but she insisted, telling him that it was his duty to understand more than just his little valley. So he set out on the route she gave him to meet with and learn from the elders of a number of other T’sai enclaves. Over the next 20 years, he rotated amongst them, spending a season with each in turn, then every fifth season with his own family, and then back out again. From each, he learned as much knowledge as he could and shared as much as he could, learning to brew the meads and beers and other potions of each family.
 
His 49th year saw him returning to the valley of the river before what was to be the final year of his tour. It was early spring, and the melt had just started in earnest. He’d been staying with a clan in the higher mountains, so his path back down into the valley took him through a small pass at the upper end. He was hurrying along when he slowed to approach the spot where the trail followed a narrow ledge curving across a cliff face. Before he could set foot on it, the earth suddenly lurched, knocking him from his feet. He watched as small landslide bounced down the cliffside in front of him, and realized that had he been just 20 yards further ahead, he might have been swept down to his doom. The roar of it had been deafening, and seemed to linger and echo much longer than it should have.
 
He was shaken, but regained his feet, and after convincing himself the ledge was safe again, edged out and around the cliff. As much as he always felt a little nervous about taking this path, he always looked forward to it, because there was a small rise just after it that always afforded him his first view of home. His belly rumbled in anticipation of sharing a meal with his family again.
 
But upon rounding the corner and walking up the rise, he was greeted not by the sight of his home caves and his family preparing for the evening meal, but by a sight that chilled him to the bone. His had not been the only landslide - what must have been half of the mountain above his home had tumbled down. Where his home caves should have been was tons of rock and rubble, with no sign of any of his family.
 
Fearing the worst, he sprinted the rest of the way through the valley, finally arriving at the base of the slide. Checking around to see if there were any signs of his family, any signs of escape, he set himself to digging. First, with his magic, and later with his hands and body, using branches to try to pry away the larger boulders. He made little progress, but continued to work nonetheless, digging for days and even weeks, eating little and pausing only when sleep overcame him. But dig he continued to do, hoping that his family might be alive inside, and might have enough food and water and some source of fresh air to sustain them.
 
He might well be digging still, but for one thing: the landslide that buried his home had also blocked the river. Slowly, the water level behind and below him crept up. He took little notice at first, and once he did notice he considered trying to unblock the river, but there was at least as much rock there as there was over the cave mouths. His excavation effort became a race against time, and one he was destined to lose. As the water forced him to continue his work higher and higher, he eventually had to concede to it - even if his family had survived, the edge of the newly-created lake was now so high that any opening would have now been drowned as well as buried.
 
Crushed with despair, B’gharri spent the few days left before spring turned into fall performing the rites of death for his family, and contemplating what he should do next. Eventually, for lack of any better idea, he decided that what he should do is complete the task his grandmother had asked of him, and set off again for the next clan on his circuit. There, and at each clan in turn, he told them the story and asked for any news they might have had of his family - could they have left the valley? Might they still be safe somewhere? Each elder returned with him to the site of the new lake (and the grand waterfall that now marked the former mouth of the valley, where the lake had finally topped the new dam), but all agreed - if his family had still been here (which seemed likely), they were now lost to him forever.
 
After his final season, he toured each of the clans again in turn, bringing them news (most had already heard) and asking the elders for advice. He proposed to return to the valley and take care of it himself, but each of the elders (perhaps out of pity, perhaps out of wisdom) told him no - the valley was now a lake, and his help was not needed there. It would be better for him to wander farther afield, away from the mountains and away from that sad reminder of his former life, and seek out new knowledge.
 
Several suggested that he go north, as the wind and the weather and other portents seemed to suggest something was out of balance up among the Takir, the smaller and shorter-lived plains peoples. If he could not find and restore it, perhaps he could at least bring his learnings back to the elders, so that they might better join in their own councils.
 
And so he ventured north, following his instincts (and eventually, the trail of some younger Takir, many of whom seemed headed in one direction) until he found a woodcutting camp. This seemed odd to him, as he had not heard that the Takir were a people to cut down living trees. Could this be the imbalance the elders spoke of? Thus, while the thought of the cut trees disturbed him, he resolved to enter the camp and learn what he could about these people and why they seemed to be behaving so strangely. After a halting conversation with one Takir man astride a horse, he also realized that he should also spend some time learning the language.
 
And thus, he came to find himself standing at a campfire at one end of the camp, keeping watch for creatures that had attacked the camp each of the last several nights.

Age

50

Date of Birth

The winter the river froze solid, before giving way to an early spring

Gender

Male

Eyes

Green

Hair

Reddish and shaggy

Skin Tone/Pigmentation

Fair

Height

7'4

Weight

260 lb